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Empty spaces in a broken window, with pieces of glass -sprayed- gently across a wooden floor. Such is as it was the day before, and will be the day after. The drink. A toxic lullaby that takes you away into a world of blurriness and headaches. You say this is supposed to be "better," but I see it was not a form of escape, but a form of abuse. You, Father, abuse yourself with the drink to take -away- the pain, when in fact, you are causing yourself so much more. Now, you think, I should just put it down. I can handle one more. One more, then I'll stop. "Promise!" Heh. Yeah right. You only said that so mom would stop yelling at you for it. But you knew it was a lie, it did have a hold on you. You refused to see how deep you were in to the drink.
So here we are, at the hospital. Third monday of the month. It's become more of a routine nowadays. Nothing else matters, but getting that buzz, that high from the alcohol.
"He'll be okay," Mother says to me. I'd believe her, if she wasn't lying. And I could tell that she was lying. Grown-ups often tell their kids what they want to hear. It's natural.
If only you'd listened to my cries for help. My cries for you to stop. My cries for you to listen to me.. But it's too late now, isn't it. Mom's already hired a burier for you. You died, in that car crash lastnight. That's what they forgot to mention to you. They said it was the other guy's fault, but it wasn't. The blame was all on you.
So here I am, in a cradle, listening to my mother cry, and try to hum me to sleep, so I can peacefully dream of the father I never had. Oh yes, and in case you're wondering, being a baby isn't all that fun..
At least, not when you're caught in the middle...
That's what I'd say if I were a little older, but hey, what do I know. I'm just a baby... Just something to think about...
~End~
21.
Love who you want to.
~Josh~
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